Transplant indiscretion

December 10, 2007
CJ Peete (Magnolia) Housing Projects
New Orleans, La.

Dear Family and Friends,

The rumble in the green space between units at the Magnolia housing projects is gone now, replaced by the muffled sounds of the expressway nearby.

The physical structures are barracks-styled, they look much like a Northeastern boarding school or what servicemen might have stayed in during World Wars. There aren't many who'd say these public housing projects aren't built well. A joke down here is, "The only time people are running to the projects is when a storm is coming."

Jokes are funny. But they only work with little truths. People have always run from the projects. They run when crimes are committed. Or they run away pursuing a better life. Before the Storm, the public housing projects were centers of violent crime, poverty and poor education. Magnolia, in its pre-storm days, had developed a national reputation for its violent crime.

It has been locked since the Storm.

Magnolia and three other of the City's largest projects are due to be demolished beginning next week. Advocates of the New Orleans' public housing projects aren't going quietly. Last week, they marched on the City Council meeting. Today, recent whispers of human road blocks became yelps of intent. You see, many of the housing projects suffered little damage in the storm, and some, according to anti-demolition advocates, are move-in ready. Many public housing residents are still displaced and those who've come back returned to locks on their residences.

It's a bit of a paradox in New Orleans--tearing down usable buildings.

This is not an arena for me to tell you about whether I think the demolitions are right. The price tag is large and the outcome calls for mixed-income communities. There are passionate people on both sides.

The clash (read: human roadblocks) between government and grassroots arrives on December 15th. Until today, these advocates had played a flawless game of call-to-action and political dissent. Many of these human roadblocks will look more like me than the typical New Orleans' public housing resident. Thousands of young, mostly white and well-educated Americans have transplanted themselves here post-Katrina.

They are hip, socially-conscious and technologically fit, blogging, photoshopping and disseminating media to all corners of America and abroad. So today, when the signs appeared reading: "For every Public Housing Unit Destroyed, A Condo Will Be Destroyed," --I didn't see angry and powerless people behind them.

I saw transplants with far less invested creating a firestorm in a racially divided City already on fragile ground.

I was at City Hall when these signs appeared, and I've seen many of the socially-just post-K white well-to-doers at the protest on several other occasions during my time here.

After all, I guess I'm one of 'em. I might have even sat at their lunch table, if this was high school.

It was disappointing that transplants had become the story. Disappointing that, if this was a game, role players lept at an opportunity to become more important than they are. The fight between government and grassroots in an old city doesn't need newcomers with little invested inserting themselves into the dispute. The FBI is investigating. I believe it's propaganda produced in a corner coffee shop that went too far. I think most have the same attitude.

We are a generation of altruism. A demographic of go-getters and big dreamers. More so, I'd say than any who've come before us, given our development in relatively peaceful and prosperous times. Somewhere along the line, behind the big ideas and world-beating attitudes, a little narcissism crept in.

It took a lot of gumption to adhese these signs to City Hall and around the Central Business District. I think it took even bigger egos.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, this is not our place to become the story, or the world-changers. A guy told me the other day that he's a little tired of the idealistic transplants who think they've "come to save our shipwreck from itself."

I'm all for idealism. I'm all for world-beaters. But, we must all remember, the people from New Orleans are a courageous and competent bunch and we, the young transplants, will learn more from them than they'll ever learn from us. There is a delicate balance between learning, listening and serving a community and doing what you think is best.

--Robert

Remember Carl Davis? An update

New Orleans Public Library
October 10, 2007
New Orleans, La.

Dear Family and Friends,

Carl Davis looks skinny. Skinnier than the first time I met him in June, when he told me things I felt wrong to repeat. Davis says its ok to repeat these things.

A man on the ropes isn't much on maintaining an image, I guess.

But, it's a man on the ropes who isn't afraid to give a story, a real oh my god that's whats going on and I'm no shrink but that's some crazy stuff kind of story. That day, Carl Davis told me how Hurricane Katrina had psyched him out. Voices that talk to him everyday. Voices that have told him to kill himself twice since the storm.

The last three months have been better for Davis physical condition. The terribly-sun blistered lips are now more healthy. The damage, I'm sure, will always keep Davis' lips looking a little off.

His head is still in shambles though. "There are two voices," he says. I asked what they look like--if voices had a face. White guys he says. The bad one, the one that tells him to kill himself looks like the devil.

"The good voice is telling me you're alright, Robert," he says.

Knowing that Carl has something else making judgments about me are unsettling sure, but he is a gentle man, whispering when words matter and other people are around him.

Davis weighs 135 pounds. "The voices tell me not to eat," he says. "It's poison," they say.

"The bad voice told me to kill myself the other day."

He's living in an apartment with the help of a homeless shelter in town. They gave him a deposit and first month's rent on a little place off MLK Boulevard.

"I got robbed again," he says. "It was stupid, I bought me a piece of ass."

"I hadn't had no ass in a year."

Asking was shameless and intrusive, but the answer would be a market rate snapshot in America's underworld of desperation--so I wanted to know:

"How much?"

"She had charged me 20 dollars and stole my keys. Her boyfriend came back with a gun."

They took 600 dollars, he says.

After we met in June, I didn't think I'd ever see him again. He's a classic disappearing act, but not in the romantic world traveler way. When he came to see me, we hugged. We walked three blocks and sat in the shade, ate snickers and drank orange juice.

"I'm glad you came in," I said.

"I just heard you were giving away tennis shoes," he said laughing. "I'm an 11 and a half."

Best,

Robert

To see initial Video and Column about go to the "JUNE" Folder

Face #2: The New Orleans' Mental Health Crisis

To view 70 second video in Full-Screen click inside picture, it will take you to YouTube.

Column below:

Duncan Plaza
City Hall
New Orleans, La.
June 2007

Dear Family and Friends--

“Raven, are you hungry?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said in a waning rasp.

Who knows what happened to his clothes, but the hospital gave him scrubs--four days ago.

Usually, scrubs like these are worn outside the hospital by only by chic high school and college kids. They are, in many ways, the new sweatpants. For Raven, however, it had become his wardrobe.

Senator Barack Obama came to New Orleans today. He spoke at the Essence Music Festival, the country’s largest celebration of African American culture.

Obama said everyone should be able to access health care. He didn’t however specifically address the mental health problems of New Orleans. He didn’t go into detail about his plans. But, for the 30,000 in attendance, his candor and general promise seemed to be enough.

I wonder what the next administration will do for the Ravens of New Orleans and the country. In many ways, KATRINA still claims people every day. People like Raven. He didn’t tell me why he was in the hospital. And I must confess, I’m making an assumption that his mental health was less than stable. But in a City where 9 of 10, rich or poor, black or white, have been affected by depression or post-traumatic stress, federal aid is a necessity not a “It’d sure be nice.”

When police find our mentally unstable on the streets, they take them to jail when psychiatric beds are full. And in Post-K NOLA, psychiatric beds have fallen by over 80 percent. This is not a statistic that should be ignored.

Mental health is not as stigmatized in New Orleans as it is in the rest of the country. People are open. People tell stories. And people cry. They say how hard it is. Many are not veiled in secrecy in New Orleans because, “We all went through it,” one of my friends said.

But in a City where it seems the residents are ready to speak; where people are open to their new existence, those trained to help are rare.

The mental illness spectrum in New Orleans is large. Some are unsavable. They have frequent bouts of psychosis. But what about the blue-collar man fighting through what he thinks must be the blues?

Will they come forward? Who knows. Right now, we aren’t prepared even if they wanted to.

Best,

Robert

Meet Carl Davis. A Face of the New Orleans' Mental Health Crisis

May, 2007
Duncan Plaza, City Hall
New Orleans, La.

Dear Family and Friends,

Carl Davis makes me nervous. Asking a homeless guy if he’s a hustler doesn’t happen everyday. But, I wanted to know.

After all, he might be one of the best hustlers on the streets of New Orleans. He was charming despite terribly sun-cracked and blistered lips.

“Are you a hustler?” I ask.

“You know what a hustler is?” he says. “They’re the guys that ask a few bucks from everybody, line up 30 or 40 dollars and buy crack with it.

Then, they’ll try and bum a cigarette the next day.”

Carl and I are on the steps of Duncan Plaza, the park outside of New Orleans’ City Hall. The things he says are frightening. And the dent in his head is all the evidence I need to know he’s truthful.

He’s been homeless on and off since 1981. The father of six is “ashamed.” “I don’t want them to see me,” he says.

He also hasn’t seen a mental health professional in four years. It’s early morning now, and the voices haven’t started yet, he says.

We talked openly about the mental health struggles he’s had. “I see monsters,” he says. “They try to get me.”

Voices tell him to jump in the Mississippi river. He’s tried twice since KATRINA. Both times, a more loving voice told him not to do it. “I want to go to heaven,” he says.

He tells me that the drugs made him groggy and that New Orleans doesn't have any good psychiatrists. It’s funny, there really aren’t enough here to take a sample of good and bad.

Twenty-six psychiatrists are registered in Orleans parish post-Katrina. There’s probably more on one block in Manhattan.

Psychiatric beds are down more than 80 percent. The mentally ill homeless picked up tend to be taken to jail by the NOPD. It’s out of necessity, not malice. There is nowhere to put them, the police department says.

Some people say the earth is not a cold, dead place. But we do forget people.

Carl Davis is 54. He was a pipe-fitter, has a great smile and better demeanor.

Don’t forget him.

We Americans have forgotten enough people post-Katrina in serious need of help with their mental health.

It’s a crisis. More psychiatrists/psychologists/crisis counselors, etc. are needed here.

Write your Senators and Congressmen.

Best,

Robert

Day 77

Day 77
May 23, 2007
New Orleans, La.

Dear Family and Friends,

She fascinates me. Seventy-seven days have passed quickly in New Orleans, the City I may be falling for.

My love affair with her will be like any relationship, I’m sure. There will be days when she frustrates me. There will be days when I wonder why I’m here. But for now, our honeymoon is strong.

And maybe soon, she’ll let me get to second base. I want to uncover her secrets. Because the glimpses she’s given me have been nothing short of magical.

I’ve seen musicians make a tired baby dance, but work for dollars in a bucket. Who, now, in 2007, must remind patrons that a dollar doesn’t go as far as it used to.

I’ve swum at sunrise in a hidden French Quarter pool.

I’ve heard ghost stories about the oldest bar in America, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop on Bourbon St.

And the red beans and rice? You haven’t eaten red, beans and rice until you’ve come to New Orleans.

I’ve had a woman living in Houston cry to me on the telephone, desperately wanting to come home to her Mamma New Orleans.

I’ve drank a beer and a coffee on the same day in the middle of the same street. The beer just before noon, the coffee just before midnight.

“We do things a little differently down here,” New Orleanians say.

Much like love, New Orleans has broken many hearts in recent years. I’ve seen that human spirit is much stronger than I initially imagined it could be, and this has been nothing short of life-altering.

So please don’t sell New Orleans short without seeing her first. There is enough of her beauty to go around, and I’m ok with that. In fact it’s the only way our relationship will ever work.

She’s too amazing for me to be selfish.

Best,

Robert

The Most Important Person in New Orleans

The Most Important Person in New Orleans
May 9, 2007
New Orleans, La.

Family and Friends--

Ed Blakely strides into places quickly with never much more than a quick shake and a glance.

Magazines have called him the “Master of Disaster.” Others refer to him as the New Orleans’ recovery czar. And after controversial comments of his were printed in an April edition of the New York Times, some called City Hall and asked that the guy take a hike.

He’s Dr. Edward Blakely to be exact--the most important man in the Big Easy.

When he walks by you quickly, perhaps the 70-year-0ld is envisioning what New Orleans could look like 20 years from now. Or maybe he’s thinking about a grand plan to raise $1.1 billion by June. But he might just be human, searching for the coffee pot or a lavatory.

If he is a mere mortal though, many New Orleanians hope Blakely has a dash of magic hidden somewhere.

What the New York Times called an ace up his sleeves, Dr. Blakely began his mutual courtship tonight with Tulane University, one of New Orleans Universities, which are a huge asset to the City, he says.

Unlike neighborhood meetings where emotions and tempers flare and end in occasional tears, the crowd of about 3o academics seemed unusually calm. In neighborhood meetings, the residents ask for his help.

But tonight, “I need you” he said to Tulane deans and professors. “Especially, law, architecture and environmental programs.”

Blakely says that the City of New Orleans is receiving no money from the state and federal government for his efforts. When he said that, the breath of the room slowed, almost halted.

When asked if the future of New Orleans should be a 2008 Presidential issue, Blakely said. “Absolutely.”

No one running for President in 2008 can afford not to come to New Orleans he said. But, “we won’t let a politician in here without writing a check first.”

Poltico-photo-ops in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast have gone on long enough he says.

Blakely has been at the center of many major American disaster rebuilds. Most notably 9/11.

“Mr. President, we don’t want you here without your money,” he said to George W. Bush in Post-9/11 New York.

The same will go for Post-KATRINA New Orleans and the 2008 winner.

But will Tulane step up in these fragile and infant rebuilding days? Will professors and deans band together with Dr. Blakely or make decisions with only Tulane in mind?

Rumors and water cooler speak at Tulane generally carry the tone that the belatedly appointed Dr. Blakely is recreating the past. President Scott Cowen was chairman of the first rebuilding plan proposed by Mayor Nagin’s “Bring New Orleans Back” commission.

“Are those documents collecting dust?” Cowen probably wonders. When I asked Dr. Cowen if he was coming to the meeting with Dr. Blakely, he politely responded that he’d be out of town. If I remember correctly, he ended the interaction with,

“I’ll call him (Blakely) when I need him.”

Dr. Blakely, influential in the rebuilding after 9/11, the San Francisco World Series Earthquake and the 1991 Oakland fire may have the soothsayer vision of a 2027 version of New Orleans swirling in his central lobes.

Critics say he’s late.

But in the Crescent City, the clocks are always a little slow.

Best,

Robert

If you are a member of a University who would like to participate in the rebuilding of New Orleans email me at rxfogarty@yahoo.com. The Office of Recovery Management would like to see many American higher-education institutions aid the local Universities in the recovery effort.

Photos Courtesy of Rebecca Mann, City of New Orleans.

The $100 Million Man?

May 1, 2007
McAlister Auditorium
Tulane University
New Orleans, La.

Family and Friends,

In a city with mixed expectations about its future, some might think Al Gore has gone off the Global Warming deep-end.

New Orleans-the symbol for the 21st Century Green City? The Big Easy doesn’t even have a sustainable recycling program yet.

But, as Gore would like to see, New Orleans should be the leader in eco-friendly reconstruction post-KATRINA.

Today, in front of at least 3,000 at Tulane University, Gore gave his famous “Inconvenient Truth” lecture; the doomsday tale of our man-made catastrophe knocking at the world’s collective door.

Global warming is threatening to erase the Western Antarctic and Greenland in the next 40 years, Gore says. His high-tech graphics depict a 20-foot rise in the ocean depth if this happens.

The prediction isn’t pretty. San Francisco, New York, New Orleans, New Delhi and almost any coastal city in the world would be under water. Over 400 million people would be displaced.

We can stop it, he says.

Citing the late author Kurt Vonnegut, Gore said, will people look back 100 years from now and ask why were so lazy? Or will they commend us for our struggles to change, ensuring safety and humanity for future generations.

A girl asked if he would rerun for President. He gave his “it’s a difficult decision but I’m not a politician anymore” stump.

President Scott Cowen of Tulane University called Gore a “Great American” and a “Great example” for the students.

I’d agree. The fabric of America is capitalism and Tulane has a blue-chip business school.

Gore’s standard appearance fee is $120,000, although University sources have told me he came here for half that mark.

He gave the lecture eight times last week—and about 1,500 times since taking it on tour.

Former Vice President Gore has made over 80 million in the name of the green revolution.

But, I wouldn't put 100 million out of reach.

Good for him. Success like that is in our American veins.

But, for the Green movement to take off on the scale savior scientists want it to, other individuals, companies and multi-national corporations need to figure out what Gore already knows.

How to make a boat-load going Green.

If the publicly-traded companies can’t figure it out, we might have to use that boat for something else.


Best—

Robert

Rent Al Gore’s “Inconvenient Truth.” Dollars for him, education for you.

Photos by Paula Burch-Celentano, Tulane University

The Incomparable Neti Vaan

April 15, 2007, 12:30 pm

400 Royal St.
New Orleans, La.
French Quarter Festival

Family and Friends,

After today, Neti Vaan could tell you she'd rather do calm.

Her band, VAVAVOOM sound checked today with winds whipping through the French Quarter. Vaan’s hair blew in her eyes. Background banners flapped and apathetic French Quarter Festival visitors probably felt sorry for the bunch.

From her first fiddle strum, the on-lookers collective apathy turned to awestruck. By the end, babies danced, mothers laughed and 100 attendees swelled to over 1,000.

Vaan, 49, has a gift. And it isn't the engineering prowess she has by trade. It's the fiddler in her nature. After graduating college, Vaan inspected buildings for code violations. She knew from the beginning it wouldn’t last.

Today, she plays to work. Or works to play, whichever you prefer. Her fiddle lights up Frenchman Street's Spotted Cat on Wednesday and Thursday nights. Mimi's in the Marigny has her and the VAVAVOOM team on Friday nights. Private parties are also a source of income.

I'm not a music critic, couldn’t even call myself a buff. But when I listen to VAVAVOOM, my ears are content.

One critic referred to Vaan fiddling as "haunting, soulful." The haunting tag doesn’t fit. There have been no nightmares in my cerebral view after a night with VAVAVOOM.

But a different critic said, "Bart Ramsey's powerful lyrics and melodies, and Neti Vaan's passionate fiddle playing combine on this enticing and typically wide-ranging gumbo that effortlessly takes in its stride texmex, mardigras, hotclub, gypsy bluegrass, country and barroom swing."

Agreed.

By the way, Bart Ramsey is VAVAVOOM's piano playing vocalist. And Vaan's ex-husband. It's great to know that even divorce can't stop a good thing.

Vaan and VAVAVOOM gained hundreds of new fans today.

Let's hope they come back to NOLA soon, but buy a CD before they go.

Best,

Robert

To hear Vaan and VAVAVOOM, go to Frenchman Street's the Spotted Cat on Wednesday and Thursday nights. Mimi's in the Marigny on Fridays. Shows typically start at 10 pm.

No Cover at either Venue.

The Mississippi River and an Unexpected Friend

April, 2007
New Orleans, La.
Note: Ben Rankin is an ALIAS

Family and Friends--

I am sitting on the banks of the Mississippi this morning, the water pretty cold and the wind even more abnormal, from what I hear, for this time of year.

The skyline from this spot is incredible. St. Louis Cathedral 600 yards to the North. Downtown Big Easy to the West.

Up walks a man, *Ben Rankin, tired. He's been up all night.

It's 10:00 am.

"What's up, bro," he says. As we talk, about the weather, the river, the "where ya' from's" I start taking his picture. It's been about 10 minutes since he walked up.

Ben doesn't flinch. But, he does put his head in his lap for a solid 30 seconds.

"I cheated on my wife last night," he says. Ben isn't the type to cry, but if he was, I'm guessing they'd be streaming. Instead, he finishes his sentences with a soft "bro."

Ben can't believe it, he says. He's been clean for two years and has new job, three-weeks old.

"I had money in my account," he says."So I took 200 out and went to Bourbon St."

A strip club on Bourbon St.

"We were doing powder, everything, bro," he says about the stripper and himself who he later ended up sleeping with.

I ask him if he's still high. "No, I'm coming down," he says. "It's bad, real bad."

"Are you going to tell your wife?"

This is the first time I see Ben smile--one of those "Are you crazy, fool?" smiles.

"I prayed," he says. He's come to the river to reflect upon his mistakes.

I'm not sure if Ben is more upset about the cocaine or the infidelity. As we keep talking about the drugs, I tell him that kids my age are big into cocaine.

"The other night," I said, "I walked into a party and five kids were doing it on the kitchen table."

Like a buffet du coke.

Ben is looking over the Mississippi, it would take an Olympic swimmer to get to the other bank.

"You know," he says, "drugs have ruined so many brothers down here."

We talk about the New Orleans murder scene. Turf wars, retaliations and drug trade, he says. No one cares about the sanctity of life, Ben says.

He grew up in the projects north of Clairborne Ave.
Ben knows about drugs.

But the father of two tells me that last night was the biggest mistake of his life.

"I was doing so good, bro," he says.

We exchange numbers. He says he'll call. As we both get up to the leave the train tracks that run parallel with the river are in use.

We're stuck between river and railroad for five minutes. Ben, between wife and life.

Me, just between a river and railroad, I guess.

Best to everyone,

--Robert

To donate or help with the New Orleans drug problem Ben talked about, visit www.bridgehouse.org, a New Orleans drug rehab center with 130 beds.